28
by Veronica Lacroix
Summary: Buffy never thought that she would make it to see her twenty-eighth birthday. When she does, what does she wish for? Do wishes ever really come true? Bangel FLUFF!


**Disclaimer: **I am not Joss Whedon. I don't own any of these characters.

**Author's Note: **This takes place post-season 7, and has nothing to do with the comic Season 8. It's basically how I imagined Buffy would feel at this age and also what _I_ feel should've happened at the end of AtS. It contains Mortal!Angel, so if you don't like, don't read.

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The song died and I was left looking at the candles flicker of their own accord. It had been many years since I had made a wish. Wishes were not to be trusted; Anya had proved to us that long ago. Nor were they to be believed; my mother had shown me that. Yet there I was, thinking about what to wish for.

When I was four, I wished for an impossibility that most girls often do at that young age: a dazzling snow-white pony. I thought that we could ride out past sunsets and play hopscotch with the stars and eat cookies on the moon. I had to settle for a stuffed, plush equine that came in a pink box. Though it served the purpose for squeezing at night, it would never jump stars or carry me beyond this world.

When I was seven, I wished for an improbability that most children would in my situation: that my parents would stop fighting. I dreamed that I would wake up one Sunday, run downstairs, chasing the smell of Mom's homemade pancakes and see them on the same side of the table. My dad's arm would be around her, lazily reading the paper while they drank coffee and hand-fed each other. Instead, I had to accept that my Mom and Dad would never love one another like that again.

When I was thirteen, I wished for a likelihood that most girls had naturally: a friend. I needed someone I could love and trust and share all my newly teenage aches and pains with. Someone who would braid my hair and giggle with me about boys and dance in pajamas with. I found soon enough that friends come and go; that as quickly as they make you 'BFF' bracelets, they turn their backs on you and call you a freak. It would be a long time before I understood true friendship.

When I was fifteen, I wished for something I was surely never going to have: a way to be strong. I thought if I was confident enough, brave enough that it wouldn't matter that I had a broken home, a broken life. I would have as many friends as I'd like because I was pretty and sure of myself. Boys would fall at my feet. It was a weak, nearly selfish wish that executed itself to my liking. I had everything I wanted and didn't care how empty it was...but then I got something more.

When I was sixteen, I wished for a change that most girls should never have to: a new life. I had wrecked the old one pretty badly; so badly that my mom had to uproot us. I didn't understand what was suddenly wrong with me, wrong with my body. I could smash glass without even thinking about it, I could run faster than I ever could, and I kept waking up in the middle of the night from the same nightmare. I could not shake the feeling that something was coming, something terrible. Then I got what I wanted – I was the new girl, in a new school, in a new town with strangers. It was more terrifying that I wanted to admit.

When I was seventeen, I made the exception to the rules: I had no wishes, no dreams, only nightmares. I had hoped all year long that something would change between my boyfriend and I. I thought that he would continue to sweep me off my feet, take me up on his metaphorical noble steed and we'd explore the mysteries of the night together. I wanted to make the love I felt for him into something physical, something we could look back on and cherish. We were so ready to prove ourselves to one another that the thought never crossed our minds that we could have been so wrong. That year, there was only one wish that I could never voice because it was _too_ impossible: I wanted time to rewind itself.

When I was eighteen, I revisited the love aspect as again most girls do: the proof of my boyfriend's love. For our relationship had been so tainted by anger, pain, despair and loss, I doubted for one moment that it was real. Yet it took only one other moment to look into my lover's eyes and know that it _was_ real, and stronger than the both of us. I loved him beyond life, beyond death and all of my futures were wrapped up in him. I thought he would hold my hand through anything. But yet again, my wish had turned on me. He proved himself to me at the end. He loved me so much that he let me go.

When I was twenty-one, I wished for hope. So much of my life had been hopeless, as many Slayers often find. I found then that I _gave_ so much hope to others. Every demon I destroyed, every enemy I vanquished, it gave someone else a life. But I kept no hope for myself. That was my life. And so, that year, I gave just that one more thing: my life.

When I was twenty-three, I wished for an end. A way out. The dangers I faced were far too great and powerful for me to handle that time. Too much was at stake, too many lives counted on my success. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders and I didn't think I could carry it any longer. The end came crashing down around me, like I had never expected it to — it left nothing behind. My way out however, just became another way _in_ because I saw that there was more work for me to do. The end of one task, the beginning of another.

And then, I was twenty-eight years old. I was the oldest living Vampire Slayer in recorded history according to Giles. I had been to hell and to heaven and back and was somehow still able to carry on. I saw my life in a series of small candlesticks and finally believed how truly lucky I was. In that small span of years, I had lived a lifetime or more. I looked up at the smiling faces of my friends and family and felt blessed to have them, though hardly a day passed when I didn't think about those we'd lost along the way.

My throat closed and suddenly I found it hard to breathe. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and I fought like hell against them. A bubble seemed to burst in my chest, filling me head to toe with anguish and sorrow. I had been looking at my life as if it was past me. As if I were years and years and more years older than I am now. I was twenty-eight; I should have been looking forward to the future, not reflecting on my fleeting past.

In the mirror – sometimes – I expected to see my face becoming more lined, my body more drawn; something changing, _something_ signifying the intensity of these last twelve years. Is this why Slayers did not survive? Was it actually fate saving them from the sadness of the rest of their lonely years? So they would not have to look back and see how much time they had wasted?

I thought I was losing time. When the Potentials came and they were given the gift that until then only Faith and I shared; I thought it would be a relief. That now, I could _live_ at last. Then I found that I couldn't. I had done too much to be able to let go – this fight was still also mine. I wasn't ready to be Buffy, I was still the Slayer. I realized then that it couldn't go on like this forever, battling the powers of darkness as my own life – the life I dreamed of – went on the proverbial back burner, to eventually fade and be forgotten. But at twenty-five, all I knew was the fight.

I felt the tears slipping from my eyes and beginning to roll down my cheeks. I didn't reach up to wipe them away. Someone had once told me, that it was never over. When I was younger, I used my future like a beacon – a flame in the distance that kept me going, kept me fighting so that I could own it one day. But then, sitting there at that dining room table, my future was clouded, tearing me in two.

Here was the crossroads of my life; where I was faced with two choices: I could finally relinquish the path of the Slayer, at last letting someone else take up that torch. Or I could drive on, continue my war against the forces of evil and leave my own normal life very much behind me. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, harder than any I had to face. Because it was me, all me. The two sides of myself had to stop competing for control.

The Slayer was immortal, infinite. That part of me would go on and on for centuries to come. My gift, my curse, had been spread to the young across the world, sharing that power and that strength to corners of the globe I'd never seen. I would always be connected to them and them to me. We would always have that common goal, that we the Chosen, had a destiny to fufill. And yet... it never really is. In truth, the world had no desperate need for Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore... because she was there and everywhere without me.

Buffy Summers was truly the one who suffered from the lifestyle and actions of the Slayer. That part of me had to be restrained, contained – all for the best. In some ways, she was stronger, wiser and more courageous because _somehow_ she'd survived through it all. The future that this part of me saw differed entirely from what the other side would receive.

I would kill myself if I tried to be both. I would never make it another year. I knew, in that moment, that I had to make that distinction to become one or the other. Would I commit myself to the lifelong servitude of the call? Would I wipe my slate clean and start all over again, sacrificing the power I had been blessed with?

I was only the oldest living Slayer because I had this passion in me that would not let me die. This passion was comprised of my need to be the Chosen One and my need to be myself. They collided together — never really meshing and never really separating — and formed this fire inside of me that burned hard and bright. I felt that fire slowly dying then. If I let it go, I'd die with it or be this empty, tortured shell for the rest of my days, no matter how long or short they may be.

That first step would be the most challenging. I thought of it as a voice in my head, gently pleading with me to walk into the unknown. To be brave and strong again like never before._ To let go. _I had yearned for this day for years, and my destiny was turning and changing just as I had. The path was only shown an inch at a time, the greater picture still hidden from me. The questions unanswered would be accounted for, the strange and murky future would be unfolded.

"Are you ready?" My sister asks me, her smile lighting up her lovely face. I realized I no longer had to be her savior, her guardian. I looked around at the rest of them: Giles, Xander, Willow – the ones who had walked beside me all this time. At Faith, Kennedy, Robin and Andrew and realized that I no longer had to be their protector as well. That chapter of my life could come to end, if I could only turn the page.

"Yes," I said and Dawn covered my eyes. In the dark, I saw their faces – Jenny Calendar, Riley, Anya, Tara, Spike; these that I had lost. No matter how long or how hard the war, they would not come back. I could never take back the mistakes I had made, or the actions that I was forced to take. But even as an ex-soldier, I could keep their memories alive and with me until the end.

Drawing a deep breath, I sucked in all those years of life and wishes. All the doubt and confusion, all the pain and suffering. I exhaled, extinguishing the candles and breathing new life out into the open. The change was infinitesimal, could not be noticed by anyone aside from me. I made one wish; a wish that had underscored all other wishes, one that I knew in my heart could not be transformed into something that crushed my dreams.

I wished for love. That now, my battle is won and I could lead my own life, free of doom and despair. So much love had been gained and lost in these last twenty-eight years. I wished for a life filled now with it – love that I had not been able to appreciate until then. Love that I could share with the ones close to me.

I no longer wanted to be remembered as The Slayer and have my legacy written in blood. I wanted it written in happiness, light and peace. I wanted to be Buffy again. Applause erupted, almost deafening me. The heart I had that so often felt so heavy, lightened inexplicably. I was _free_. I was _ready_.

When I opened my eyes, the first offering of my wish presented itself to me. I could not stifle my audible gasp. My heart burst once more, but this time in happiness. I didn't even think to hope to see this face again. I trembled as I rose to my feet and crossed the distance between us. He welcomed me graciously into the circle of his arms. I looked up into that familiar face and more tears fell from my eyes. Tears of joy.

"Angel," I said, finding my voice. _My_ Angel. His cool brown eyes searched mine and as I had never suspected it would, his mouth parted in a glittering smile. He touched my cheek softly, surprising me yet again. His hand was warm, as warm as my own. I pressed my face and hand to his chest and there I felt it: his heartbeat.

"Buffy," he answered, his voice rumbled his frame. Had I not known better, I would've thought I died. I listened closely to the sound of his beating heart; I never thought it would sound so beautiful. This singular sound showed me the next few steps on my path of life. It cemented me to the choice I had made and made me ever so grateful that I had chosen it. That it had chosen _me _this time.

"You're alive," I said, barely above a whisper. I tore my face from his chest momentarily to look up into his face. He nodded once, his smile still stretching to his eyes. I took a quick glance at everyone else's expression, searching out the ones that looked shocked or bewildered – none of them wore anything aside from happiness and pride. They all knew. They all had planned this.

"And you're twenty-eight," Angel responded. I looked back at him. For a moment, I didn't know how to take all this in. How had this happened? Confusion must have clouded my face because Angel's smile fell slightly and he backed up. However, he took up my hands and focused in on me with that intense look from which I could not turn away from even if I wanted to.

"Some six years ago, you made a promise," he spoke fervently. "I knew it would take a long time before you could keep it. Supernatural change can happen in an instant,you know _that_. What you didn't know is that human change in the natural order of things takes much, much longer. So I waited. Two, three, four years ago, you still weren't ready... but I wasn't going to give up on you."

"The cookies," I remembered the analogy. "I was baking."

"You were still cookie dough for a long time," Angel chuckled.

"But when did –" I touched his chest again, signifying my reference. Angel looked at Giles and gave a short nod of his head. Of course, Giles was always more adept at explaining the odd, complex situations better than anyone.

"There was a prophecy – the Shanshu," Giles began, looking back and forth between Angel and I. "That told of the transformation of a vampire with a soul into a mortal. There were various trials attached to it. Through which, amazingly, Angel has pushed through."

"I thought I'd lost it," my attention snapped back to Angel. "I signed it away... but that was just part of it in the end. I had to give up what I wanted most, to be worthy."

"I just can't believe it," I said, squeezing his mortal hands. He squeezed back, the smile returning. I knew what was different then. In his eyes, there was no longer that darkness holding the guilt and regret of his former life, there was no more curse – his soul was clean and unchained. There was new light in his eyes, glimmering behind the form I knew so well.

The rest of the company filed away to share cake. I received a kiss on both cheeks from my sister and from Willow. They then departed from the dining room, allowing Angel and I some privacy. He grinned down at me with that certain endearing expression of his that made me feel as if I were sixteen years old again. I began to blush, I could feel the heat starting to color my cheeks, but I smiled back anyway.

"Are you really ready, Buffy?" Angel asked, pulling my hands into his chest. I knew what he meant. My wish was like turning off the oven. I swallowed a bit before answering, "Yes."

"Ready for me?" He added, lifting my hands enough to place butterfly kisses onto the backs of them. That simple gesture was enough to my heart flutter, following my short, shallow breathing. In spite of the familiarity with his charms, they never failed to make my knees weak. Angel sighed, his light breath dancing across my knuckles and again, I was faced with the incredibility that he was human.

"How long?" I asked, temporarily avoiding his question. His eyes reached mine, an eyebrow arched. "How long have you been human?"

"Four years, ten months and eighteen days," he recited with a sly grin. "I'm two-hundred and fifty-three years old... or I'll be thirty-one next year."

"Wow," I sounded. "And you waited all this time to tell me?"

"I couldn't force you into anything, and I didn't know if you were happy... without me."

I shook my head and took a step closer. "I was. For a little while at least, but..." My thoughts automatically traveled back to my previous lovers. To Riley, and Spike and the Immortal, even to various other boyfriends over the years. Not one of them had shattered me as Angel had, nor did any of them put me back together as he did either.

I missed him. I missed him so much, that I didn't consciously think about it; it was just always there in the back of my mind. He alone was the one love of my life that would not release his hold on me.

"I'm ready now," the words tumbled from my mouth, proud and true. "For you."

It would seem that fate had finally dealt me a hand that I could stand. Angel carefully wiped my cheeks, clearing away the tears. I leaned into his touch, inching ever closer to him. His hands left my face to hold me to him. Instead of tearing me away from him, at last, they were bringing us together. The virtues of our patience finally paid off, whether it be at the end or the beginning of our lives.

"I love you," I said, tilting my head to meet his eyes. Those three all-too-common words that I never got to say enough to him. He smiled, tightening his embrace. I could have sworn that I saw tears in his eyes, making them shimmer.

"Happy birthday, Buffy," he whispered, leaning down and toward me. We kissed the most perfect kiss that I could ever remember having. It wasn't laden with pain or sorrow or desire. His lips touched mine and my heart melted, warming me all the way down to my toes. Angel lifted me some, my arms around his neck as we shared breath. This was the kiss dreams were made of. I knew then that he would never have to leave me again, nor I him, and I was home. I was twenty-eight and I could walk this new path with him holding my hand every step of the way.

When we parted, I felt no more sadness or grief over the life of the Slayer. That life had brought Angel to me in times when I needed him. It would be this new life though that would keep him at my side, Buffy's life. And for once in these twenty-eight years that I can remember, I was absolutely euphoric, satisfied and fearless. With my hand inside Angel's, we walked back to the others.

I shared a smile with him again and in my heart, I somehow knew that it didn't matter if this lasted a day, a month, a year or fifty years — my life was filled with all different kinds of love. The fatherly love that Giles bestowed on me, the quiet love of my dearest friends Xander and Willow, the sisterly love that I shared with Dawn, and of course, the passionate love I would have for Angel. Perhaps it was there all along and I just didn't see it.

I was twenty-eight years old and I discovered that some wishes – the very best – do come true. All things take time, all things change. Most of all, I found that all things work together for the greater good. After all the suffering, the bleeding, the heart-breaking and the death, you learn that at any moment your life could end. Any fight could be your last.

Once you're on the other side, it's no longer a fairy tale. Happy endings happen all the time, but nothing ever truly ends. You pick up the pieces and carry on — a new chapter. My destiny was still lying ahead of me, out of reach and for once, that thought didn't cripple me. Love — my love — would last forever, longer than I.

Twenty-eight was not the end of my journey, it was just another beginning and I would have more adventures and tasks and trials. I had love and peace and strength and hope and courage and a brand new life.

And I was _ready_.

**FIN.**

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Hope you enjoyed it and as per usual, please review!


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